helped herself to a couple of tiny morsels, and they settled in two comfortable armchairs facing each other in the suite’s vast living room. Joel didn’t seem to notice her lack of appetite. As he munched and drank he had his grandfather’s notebook spread open beside him on the arm of the chair, and the conversation quickly focused on the clues they needed to crack.
‘Salvation lies at the feet of the Virgin,’ Joel said, reading from the page and knocking back another glass of wine. He was outdrinking her three to one and getting progressively more bright-eyed as the level in the first bottle dropped rapidly.
Alex sipped from her glass. ‘Was your grandfather Catholic?’
‘He was raised C of E, as far as I know. I don’t recall him ever having talked about going to church, though.’
‘Because what if he wasn’t just talking metaphysics here? What if he was talking about his own literal salvation? As in, the only thing that he believed could save him?’
‘You’re saying he was referring to the location of the cross?’
She nodded. ‘X marks the spot.’
‘At the feet of the Virgin. How many Virgin Marys must there be here in Venice?’
‘A few thousand,’ she said. ‘Maybe more than a few. The Mother of Christ isn’t exactly a rarity in these parts.’
‘That’s a lot of possible Xs marking a lot of possible spots.’
They talked on, throwing ideas back and forth, getting nowhere fast. Joel shoved his empty plate to one side and concentrated harder on the wine. The first bottle was empty now, and he was making inroads into the second, slumping gradually down into his armchair and slurring his words a little.
‘What about this “Anchi 666”?’ he complained. ‘It’s driving me crazy. The Antichrist? Damien?’
‘My Bible knowledge is a little rusty,’ Alex said, ‘but what I think the Book of Revelation says is that the number six hundred threescore and six is “the number of a man” who’s also the biblical Beast — the Devil’s envoy, his representative on Earth. Does it mean vampires?’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t say for sure. In ancient times, a lot of people thought vampires were an incarnation of Satanic evil.’
‘Evil is the right word,’ Joel muttered, and slipped a little further down in his chair.
Alex didn’t reply.
‘But where does this get us?’ he groaned. He was really slurring now, and having trouble keeping his eyes open. Alex moved over to his chair and put her hand to his lips.
‘Shh. Tomorrow. You’re tired.’
He nodded sleepily, and closed his eyes. She kneeled by his chair and studied his face as he fell asleep.
Within minutes he’d drifted far away. It was as though she’d been left alone in the room. A strange emptiness came over her, and an impulse made her reach out suddenly and stroke his cheek.
‘William,’ she murmured softly.
He stirred and his eyelids gave a flicker, then he went still again. She ran her fingers through his hair. She wanted to kiss him…She didn’t know what she wanted. It felt strange and confusing to be here with this man.
After a few minutes, she stood up. Putting an arm gently under his shoulders and the other under his legs, she scooped him up out of the armchair without waking him and carried him easily through the door of his bedroom. She laid him down on the four-poster and covered him gently with a blanket.
She should have left him then, but instead she stayed with him, sitting on the edge of the bed as he slept. From time to time his brows twitched and he shook his head from side to side and muttered softly to himself as troubled dreams played in his mind. She stroked his hair and whispered soothingly to him, and the frown would melt away from his face so that he looked almost like a child.
What it was that made it so hard to leave his side, she didn’t understand. Time passed and in her own thoughts she was seeing herself as she’d been a long, long time ago. Happy, carefree, in love. She remembered the good times.
Then the bad memories returned, the way they always did. Cradling her dying lover in her arms as his blood soaked into her clothes and the life ebbed out of him drop by drop. Knowing there was nothing to be done but to hold him tight and count the precious moments that were going to be their last together.
‘Don’t go,’ she’d pleaded through her tears. He’d seemed to focus for a moment, and whispered his last promise to her.
‘I’ll come back to you, my love.’ Then the light in his eyes had faded to a glassy stare. And that was it. He was gone.
Sitting here now in this dark room after so many years had gone by and so very much had happened, Alex wanted to cry. But to cry was one thing she could not do.
Joel’s eyes opened in the darkness. ‘What time is it?’ he murmured, half unconscious.
‘It’s late,’ she whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘I was dreaming.’
‘I know.’
‘I dreamed you carried me in here.’
She chuckled. ‘That’s crazy.’
‘It felt so real.’
‘Just dreams,’ she said. A strand of hair fell across his eye. She brushed it away.
‘How long have you been sitting here?’ he asked softly, with a smile.
‘I’ll go now.’
He put out his hand to catch her arm as she got up to leave. ‘Stay,’ he said. She could so easily have broken his grip, but didn’t.
What are you doing, Alex?
She let him pull her down towards him, slowly closer until she could feel his warm breath on her lips. His eyes were shining in the moonlight from the window.
Then, when the kiss came, there was no going back from it, for either of them.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The Dorchester Bar, London
10.17 p.m.
Slumped on a stool at the end of the curved bar, Kirsty Fletcher drained the last of her gin and tonic and ordered another. She glanced at her watch. More than three-quarters of an hour since her boyfriend Steve had been due to turn up. He was making a habit of that. And just under six hours since she’d walked out of her audition feeling utterly deflated and demoralised. The feeling hadn’t gone away. Steve had suggested the Dorchester as a treat, to help drown her sorrows together.
Cheers, Steve, she thought bitterly as she took the first gulp of her second G and T. She followed that up with a bigger one, and before she knew it the ice was clinking against an empty glass. At about twenty quid a sip, she couldn’t hang about here all night. There was a bottle of cheap wine in the fridge back home in her little Hammersmith flat; she’d take it to bed, turn on a movie and put the rest of the day out of its misery. Sounded like a good plan.
It was the ripple of whispers from the group of women sitting at the table behind her that made her look round at the entrance.
‘Who’s he?’ the skinny blonde said sotto voce behind her hand to the brunette next to her. Kirsty followed their gaze towards the man who had just walked into the bar. He was tall and almost impossibly elegant, but without a hint of affectation. Maybe in his early forties, he was built like a tennis champion and walked with the easy grace of an athlete. His hair was thick and dark, and the eyes beneath the sleek brows were the most vivid blue she’d ever seen. She swallowed.
Ohmygod…he’s coming this way.
